


Of Storms and Birds

by CJRothWritten



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Origin Story, Pre-Canon, Squibs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-29
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-02 02:16:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16777645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CJRothWritten/pseuds/CJRothWritten
Summary: You don't just stumble across a Thunderbird.This is complete as of December 11th, 2018.





	1. Chapter 1

It began with a storm. Not just any kind, either. A storm in the middle of a country wide drought. A storm in a place where no plants grow, and even weeds can’t flourish. A storm caused by, of all things, a bird. 

The locals couldn’t explain it, and when things go well, people don’t question the good fortune. All they knew was that one day, a group of four strangely attired men showed up and observed the small village. They took in the well constructed homes, the dirty well, and the root vegetables that grew slowly, but strongly. They took in the people, who despite the misfortune of the ground they stood on, wore exquisite clothes made of fine fabrics, adorned with fine shined jewels. 

The men left, and when they came back, they came with a miracle of miracles.

It’s best to start with how we got here.

This group of men, adorned in odd clothing of their own, took notice that of all things purchasable in this place, clean water was not one. All the money in the world couldn’t help with that kind of no-maj struggle. Even if they knew who to speak to, there was always human bureaucrats who advised against that sort of thing, who would make it more difficult for these people than needed. But these four men (who were also, unbeknownst to the villagers, four wizards) had a solution. 

Outcasted by wizarding society, the group of four were squibs. Unable to produce magic of their own, they learned non-magic ways to adapt. Where there wasn’t _Lumos_ , there was torches. Where there wasn’t _Stupefy_ , there was tranquilizer. Where there wasn’t _Incarcerous_ , there were cages. And so, these men, native to a small American state known as Arizona, had devised a way for them to make a little bit of no-maj money. America itself had gone through a recession after all, who were they to ignore an opportunity?

Now, the four squib wizards knew of something called a Thunderbird, and knew of its magical properties. They knew, that in the ‘right’ hands, this creature could be very profitable. And not only that, it’s a creature that could be taken away, were they to not receive sufficient gratitude (read: payment) for bringing it around. 

They arrived in Arizona a few weeks after their visit to the village. The plan was to scour the land in search of this mighty beast and to bring the group together when they found it using their given owls. They brought rations and tranquilizer rifles, and were only able to bring one cage due to its size. They each went their separate ways- Thurzenby to the North, Jayre to the East, Fettel to the West (with the cage), and Matthew to the South.

Thurzenby considered himself the leader of the group, having coordinated the travel to and from the countries. In his eyes this bird was his salvation. Of all the time he spent being ostracized by his family for not having any usable magic, he was sent off to a lesser-known non-magic wizard school, though some would say it was more like an asylum for families to hide their so-called ‘dirty’ secrets.

It was at this so-called school that Thurzenby met the other three. Jayre, Fettel, and Matthew. Jayre considered himself the leader, having come up with the plan to capture the Thunderbird. The others didn’t know, but he gave himself to the asylum after running from home. He was determined to find more non-magic wizards like himself. His parents always used the place as a threat, but never actually sent him away, so he figured it’d be best if he did it himself.

Now Fettel, who, of course, considered himself the leader due to his brutality, was desperate to make money from this work. In a night of regretted vulnerability, he told Thurzenby that he needed the money so he could buy a house far from any civilized society, to protect not just himself, but the others around him.

Finally, there was Matthew who, of course, considered Thurzenby as the leader because he figured himself a better follower, rather than a leader. He just wanted the money to try to live well among the muggles, and to forget the wizarding world as a whole.

It ended up being Matthew who caught the first sighting, after an old man on a decrepit farm told him a magic bird was raining on his sheep. He owled the others, but by the time it got sent out, Thurzenby caught sight of the Thunderbird in the North. He trailed alongside it riding a stolen horse, watching the sky until the Thunderbird came down.

Keeping his distance from it, making subtle attempts at stealth. He trailed it to a river where he saw it lower itself. A drink? Some food? Regardless this would be his chance. He took the rifle down from his shoulder. Slowly, surely, he gave himself the proper distance to get a shot off. Aiming, tightening his grip to the rifle, aiming over the rock landscapes and dry brush, the scope revealing to him that it was, in fact, the right prey.

Squeeze. Bang!

Thurzenby sent out his owl, informing them all that the creature had been put to sleep, and for Fettel to bring the cage. It only took a day before they arrived. Thurzenby having to re-tranquilize the bird when it would stir. He hid under a cliff face by a river, and each night, as he heard the birds’ noises in his sleep, he thought about how much they’d be able to make from this whole scheme.

The other three arrived in the same day, and Fettel carted the cage behind him. The bird was unfortunately bigger than anticipated, so they really had to squeeze him into it, making sure its wings were tight on its side.

It was at this point that they’d allowed it to wake. They looked at it’s open eyes as it looked back. It began to shake, and stir, and try to move, but with the lack of space in the cage it could only quiver before them.

They told each other that it was just an animal, that the money would make it worth it. And though they didn’t obviously think the bird could hear them, the more they spoke, the more the skies greyed and stormed with fury. They wrapped the cage in canvas, hoping it would dull the tempest, but it did no good. It didn’t matter what the bird saw, just that it was backed into a corner and needed to react. The sun was long gone and the thunder shook the whole state. Rain, lightning, even hail. They did their best to ignore this, just to make it to the boat waiting for them on the coast.

It didn’t take a whole lot of money to bribe themselves and their cargo on to a boat originally. The sailing was supposed to be smooth, but that’s for good weather that’s planned, not bad weather that’s a reaction. The first few nights were awful, the waves rocked the boat, and the crew became frightened as they noticed the storm clouds only following their boat. The captain had to approach them and ask if they understood what was going on. All the “I’m not saying that it’s you” and “You understand the cost of risk” meant a little further greasing of the palms.

Matthew, one quiet night, snuck up alongside the cage. Lifting the canvas to see the still shaken Thunderbird. He reached out to try and calm it, like the dogs he had when he was a boy, but the bird only got angrier; making attempts claw and bite at him. Matthew explained to him that all this fury and storming would only mean the Thunderbirds death, that it would only harm him. The storm stayed, but in the days that followed it lessened, and just became heavy, grey skies that only drizzled.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You don't just come quietly.

High above the state of Arizona, amongst the moist clouds and sunbeams, the Thunderbird flew. He would bask in the sun, and only ever came down for food and drink. Where it came from, and where it was going were never things that occurred to the mighty creature, for all it knew was the freedom of the skies, and that was more than enough.

Every so often, the Thunderbird would fly below the clouds, he only ever went below to observe the world at large. To see grand structures built next to one another, getting ever closer to the sky. And when he saw this growth, he felt fear of something encroaching on his territory, and he’d feel his longing for the sun once again.

Such was the peculiarity of this bird. It was in that longing that the clouds would grey, rain would fall, and the Thunderbird would retreat into the clouds to bask in the glory of the sun. It was in this joy that the rain would break, the clouds would part, and the sun would shine down on the people below.

A Thunderbird, like any bird, can’t explain the complex nature of a good meal, or glorious sunshine, or the freedom of flying. What he knows is the crisp warmth on his feathers, the taste of a particularly fresh catch, or the liquid joy of drinking from a freshwater stream. Most importantly, however, is the feeling of spreading his wings, and gliding among the bright, open mystery of the clouds, nothing to stop him except the next meal, and the next curiosity. 

To humans the bird only appeared as a speck in the sky, but the wizarding world has long known of the existence of the Thunderbird. Most feared this bird in the same way humans fear their sharks. Regardless of how different the worlds of wizards and humans were, they often shared similar misunderstandings of nature at large.

It was a particularly gorgeous day.

He set his sights on a flowing river below, filled with delicious looking fish. Their silvery glint made him open his massive beak without thinking as he swooped down for a quick meal. The only humans around were travelling a couple miles back, so he took his time to eat. With the taste of every fish, he wanted another mouthful, taking care to drink the water to wash them down. 

Then, there was a sensation in his back. A small pin prick not dissimilar to a bee sting, but this was different. Where a bee sting would start fading immediately, He felt the sting continually, and it scared him into attempting to fly away, but it’s as if each wing had gained a hundred pounds. He looked to the sky, and saw the clouds closing in on the sun, and his view of even the grey began to fade. With his last glance, the Thunderbird looked behind himself, and saw at a distance the human, holding something. Darkness.

There was nothing worse. No predator, human hunter, or violent magic that had been as bad as this. He couldn’t move his wings, not even to stretch. The dull aches that he felt in his bones as he’d try to move them back and forth, the pain in his neck when he’d try to turn his head the other way. But the real pain, the pain of seeing the canvas lift, and seeing the land of his home in the distance, as he realized he’d no longer see the skies he loved so much. 

The man before him tried to reach in and touch, but to his last breath the Thunderbird would fight. He would not allow them to have more of him than they already stole. His freedom had been cut and taken, and he wouldn’t even be able to know why. The canvas dropped, and again he felt himself in the cold darkness of the ship. 

The Thunderbird raged and wailed against this indignity. He couldn’t see what he’d been doing, but he knew that his fury would whip up a storm something fierce. He wouldn’t allow himself to sleep, or to stop. He would shake and thunder and do all that was needed to free himself from this cage. One day, however, the canvas lifted, and a scared man looked in at him.

The man had said something, he wasn’t sure what, but he knew from what he saw that the winds of his furious tempest were enough to destroy, not only this cage, but the whole entire boat. And as satisfying as it would be to take that from them, he wasn’t ready to die. The idea of that wasn’t one he understood, but certainly one he feared, given any chance of being able to fly again. Instead he slept, he endured the pain, and he kept calm. 

Every now and then different men would approach the cage, pushing in a bucket of undrinkable sea water, and scrimp fish that provided only the mildest nourishment. It tasted disgusting, but the Thunderbird quickly realized that the quicker you ate it, the easier it was, having woken up once to a couple rotted fish that he had no choice but to eat and forget as quickly as possible.

So, he kept calm. There was still such a sadness in his heart, but he bided his time until the chance to escape arose. Whether a beach of rotted fish carcass, or a river full of silver, hearty salmon, Thunderbird knew that fate could play fickle tricks with opportunity.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You don't just transport a living creature.

Patience withstanding, Thunderbird could feel the ship getting closer to shore. The wind was slowing, noises of land birds, and the posturing and yelling of the men on the ship had all changed. The air was much dryer than he was used to, and he choked and sputtered on the dust creeping its way into the cage.

A crane lifted him, the ‘cargo’, and in his near-starved delirium, in the briefest moment, the Thunderbird thought he was flying again. It got windier, his feathers moving only slightly, and it was enough for the moment. But that didn’t last, the crane lowered him back down and it made his heart hurt, like his freedom was stolen once more. There was an impact as he was dropped, he couldn’t be sure where. The thick canvas only allowed a little light underneath, what little else would come through was the noise of the thunder clouds high up.

All he knew was the weather, and a few of the human noises that he couldn’t make sense of. It would be enough for now, it’s all he could hold on to for a vague sense of time and place. Enough to keep him from losing his senses completely. He was trying hard to hold on to what was.

Suddenly the cage vibrated, and a loud noise like a muted roar. A predator? Some kind of beast native to this land? It came with a smell, a dense smell, thick and oily. The cage shook and his body was pushed to the back of the cage. Was the world breaking apart under the weight of all this? Would these humans blame him? Nothing happened, the smells and feelings stayed constant, and when the canvas briefly waved upwards, Thunderbird realized they were moving once more.

Days of this, this silent roar, this rumble, this push. Thunderbird wasn’t allowed any sort of comfort or proper nourishment. The water, at the very least, had gone from undrinkable to dirty, and he’d made due. The fish got drier as time went by, and even a few times they’d forgotten to feed him, leaving him starved and crazed. 

Every now and then, the noise stopped, and the cage stayed still. It only lasted for a few minutes at a time, with the smells becoming less smoggy and more concentrated. Was he being moved? Would anything happen? These thoughts lingered until the sounds started again. They moved, he was still stuck.

All this disorientation, his sleep only came from exhaustion, allowing way for only the briefest ideas of flying once more. Thunderbird held on to those, it would be enough for now, in all this. He couldn’t move enough to shake the cage loose, and what would he do then? He took what little there was, it’s all there was.

Then, in what felt like anywhere from hours to weeks, the movement stopped, the smell went away, and the cage was dragged. By this point the food had been awful enough to not even sustain him anymore. He was tapped, and the bells were tolling, yet the fear had all but dissipated, how much worse could it get? He slept. 

BANG. RING. BANG. RING. BANG. RING.

Thunderbird awoke with a roar, canvas still blinding him. The noise! The noise!

Suddenly the light was extraordinary, and shouts! The crowd of shouts! Thunderbird couldn’t see, eyes still adjusting to the shock of the light. Human noises, voices, announcing, gasping. 

As the light began to fade, he was still in the cage, and before him were a crowd of people. People who stared, stares he’d never had long enough to see and understand what they meant. Fear? Surprise? Shock?

PAIN.

Thunderbird bawled! Pain! Searing pain right in his back brought his fear to the forefront. Murdered for these people? Is that what this was, all this waiting? The pain started again and please, mother, why, the pain, where was he going, why were they doing this, and again they stabbed and again he cried, and he looked up above the crowds, the sky opened. It opened! The sky! The rain! It rained, it thundered! 

The pain stopped coming, and the noises of the people began. He looked at them, they too looked up, some crying before the water hit them, smiling, broad smiles. Arms were raised. Thunderbird looked as best he could to the men who brought him here, now walking to the front. They grinned, not like the people. The people below smiled in pure joy, in hope. These men, they grinned an evil, scheming grin. 

The people looked back at him, and even as they approached, they couldn’t tear their eyes away. They took decorations from their necks and hands and ears, they dropped them at the feet of the men. What was happening? The rain lightened up as his curiosity dampened his sorrow, as it did, he felt another spike to his back. Not as hard as before, but the message was clear, keep it raining. He didn’t need to even be sad to do that, determination and fury would be enough.

A smaller human approached him. The Thunderbird, even as curled up as he was, still towered over him. The human reached out to touch his claw, and for the first time in a long time, the Thunderbird didn’t feel threatened. With the way they looked at each other, they both were curious. But before the boy could make contact, what seemed to be his parents dragged him away. They were afraid. Of what? Of a bird in chains? Between him and his captors, even he knew that he was not the one to be feared. 

Don’t they see him? In these chains? Don’t they understand that it was these men who brought him here like this. But then he saw them, really looked at what they were doing. He saw all of the people from this town drawing buckets from their homes and having them filled by the rain. They weren’t here for his torture, but for what he could provide. 

It started to add up, he looked at the men again and saw them receiving shiny jewels, nuggets of gold, silver, other metals. They were being paid to bring him here to unleash his rain upon the town. So long as rain was made, he wouldn’t be hurt anymore. 

Though it may have been weakness, maybe he’d be a little more rewarded for the provision of the water. Maybe, even, they’d let him fly. The skies here were as open as anywhere, would they let him fly if he gave them the rain they needed? He could feel how dry it was here, he wouldn’t have trouble making it pour. The only trouble anymore was these men. How they weren’t being punished. And now that he was doing what he was able, would they leave?

Only time would tell at this point, so he kept patient. He rested, the rain drizzling over his body, and over all of the people. He calmed himself, making sure the rain still fell, filtering the last of his pains, and observed village. It was simple: farms, self-made homes, root vegetables were on a table near a giant pot, this seemed to be a communal space. Sheets were being taken down to allow the rain to touch everything. In total, there were maybe thirty to forty homes, with around sixty people to them. 

He saw the small human, still looking curiously at him. He brought more children alongside, mouthing words to them as they pointed at this thunderous bird before them. These innocent children didn’t want anything but to know this bird more, even in their fear they were curious. They didn’t truly understand why the bird was brought to them, or how. Just that he was there, and he was alive, and he was new.

In the depth of his feelings, though, the Thunderbird wanted the kids to come back and comfort him. He’d never cared much before, having eschewed human society due to exact fears like this. But now, having had nothing but mishandling, pain, and violence. The idea of being pet and felt with respect would have meant the world. Sure, he was hungry too, and very thirsty, but he was deprived of contact as well, no matter the species.

While he figured out how to leave this place, he would also try to seem as friendly as possible to these people, and these people alone. The only agenda they had right now was being fed. Maybe if he was kind to them, they would allow each other to pet him, to comfort him. He just wanted anyone, human, animal, anything to show him compassion, and be gentle to him.

However, no matter how much he'd wanted comforting. No matter how much they might try, if they ever did, those four thieves would not be forgiven. In any given moment he would try and hurt them back. He would wait as long as he needed to get to them like fish in an unreachable river, waiting to be plucked dry and killed.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You don't just live among muggles.

The first night in this village wasn’t as awful as the journey there. The villagers had very quickly erected a tent held up with trees, seemingly to keep him out of his own rain. The four men had kept Thunderbird chained up, because of course they did, but anything was better than that cage. He had to spend the first few hours stretching his aches and pains out from the cage.

He could feel it throughout his golden-brown wings, a dull ache in the muscles, scratches on the surface, taking hours to work it all out. His yellow beak felt misplaced, being pressed against the bars for hours can do that, and it was a feeling he’d hoped he would never feel again. His claws had been scratched dull trying to keep himself up in the cage, they were raw and uneven, and it was sorrowful for him to even look at them. He did a little scratching against any hard spots in the floor, brushing his beak and stretching out his wings, until he felt semi-normal enough to stand.

The people brought him food and drink. Not like the waste on the boat. They brought him looked like beans and nuts mixed with barley and sorghum, he wasn’t sure what to make of it. He would have killed for some meat. The villagers also collected his rain in a large bowl. None of them ever got near to him, but they pushed the food and drink across the sand. Thunderbird saw the streaks in the grit slowly grow as the food approached, and it felt obscenely long. 

They’d brought him food, why would he try and hurt them? What had these men possibly told them? As soon as the food was close enough for him to get, the people quickly retreated. 

He gave the bowl of greens a quick smell, trying to mull if it was ‘just’ greens and not anything sinister. He determined that he was safe for now, and began eating. It tasted like the fields he fed on at a young age, but more spiced, and a little drier. It didn’t matter, he hadn’t realized how starved he was for quality food, and this was it. He ate faster than his beak could hold, spilling the food back into the bowl as he leaned to the right and took a drink. The water was as clear as he’d made it, and he was thankful for this meal. By the end of it, he was full for the first time in days. 

He hadn’t worried about sleeping hungry tonight, if he was even able to sleep, keeping his eye to the door. He worried that the men would come back to hurt him for fun. As if no matter what he did it wouldn’t ever get too good, not before they came to ruin any joy he’d accrued. He couldn’t even eat before trying to sniff out poisons. What would be the benefit? They need him to make rain, otherwise they wouldn’t get their jewels. That’s what his suffering was for, after all. Money. It didn’t matter what they did to him, as long as they were paid.

Thunderbird peered around the tent, he shook his leg, feeling the shackle around it. It was tight, too tight to even move up or down without scratching and burning into his leg. He followed the chain to a peg stuck in the ground. It was thronged into a buried stone. He spent some time trying to pull it loose, but there was no movement at all.

Thunderbird put it out of his head, and instead tried his best to sleep. He kept watch of the door until all sounds of the village died out. They would sleep first, they would always sleep before he did, they wouldn’t get him before bed. The only noise remaining was a light drizzle on the tent, the tapping and water running was all he had to lull him into a deep sleep. 

He dreamed. He dreamed of lakes of fish following him through the skies, so he’d never have to go near the ground again. He dreamt of a long stream running spirals around his flight, ducking down, up, left and right to get a bite, not interrupting an otherwise wondrous flight. He looked through a break in the clouds. Home again. Delicious fish, the water holding them the cleanest it’s ever been. Then he saw himself below the clouds, flying lower, lower, and lower. 

He wanted to stop himself, but the spiral of food and water tightened, making him unable to break down and save himself. Lower, lower he got to the ground, until he was hovering above the ground. Then the Earth cracked open a might maw of dirt and rock. The burning core of the planet visible to him, but he did not fly higher. And as he flew in a cyclone of fish and water, the him below the clouds disappeared in the jaws of the Earth, and it closed, and he awoke.

No fish, no clouds. He was back in his tent. The sun shone through the grey skies above. He looked to the entrance, and saw the curious child from the other day looking in. He had a bowl of water, albeit smaller than last night, that he was approaching him with. Thunderbird ducked his head down, knowing that of all the people from this village, this one was the one he’d like to see. He seemed friendly enough to have brought him water. With his head down, he showed the child that he meant no harm. The child approached more, until he was an arms length away. 

The child put the water down, and so Thunderbird moved forward and began to drink. He kept an eye to the child, seeing what he’d do, needing to be sure. The child reached out, tiny hands spread, slowly moving to his head. The idea of being shown some kindness excited him. Then his hand made contact, and it was sincere, and he felt warmth. The child moved his hand back, lifted, repeated, and stroked his feathers. It felt good to be cared for, to be considered as more than a tool. 

Someone yelled. 

An older human ran into the tent and grabbed the child. He knocked the bowl of water over, spilling most of it. The child tried to argue but this man wouldn’t have it, running away with the child in his arms. Cold again, no matter the climate. Thunderbird drank the rest of the water that he could get from the bowl. The last remaining kindness the child had shown. He just wanted that warmth again, he wanted to feel genuine love. All this fear had gotten to him in a way it never would have were he in the sky. At least now he knew that not all humans would fear him or, thankfully, hurt him. 

One of his more interesting encounters was with a young woman from the village. She looked inside of his tent and Thunderbird caught her gaze. She let out a sound and ran off. That hadn’t been too uncommon throughout the day, but she then came back with a box, upon which she sat. Then she just stared at him. He stared back, and she’d shift her head and look at different parts of him, his wings, talons. Then from a little bag, she pulled a book, and began writing inside of it whilst looking at him. 

After what felt like hours, she turned the book around. Even from far away he was able to see that she’d been drawing him. She drew whole pictures of him, then specific parts. He didn’t know what to make of it, but she smiled and left. Humans could be very curious creatures, when they weren’t binding and caging him of course. 

There were many other visitors, the people brought their leafy dishes and buckets of water, and for long spurts of time he wouldn’t see the four men who brought him. Every so often they’d come by the tent and look in, to which Thunderbird would get in a defensive pose and wait, staring, unblinking at the captors. 

Other times older humans would come and speak to him, but he could never understand. Maybe it brought them comfort? Children would come and look, but unfortunately whenever the curious child came by, he had adults with him that would keep him from fully entering the tent. It’s like they thought touching him would stop the rain. 

He knew it helped them to keep raining, and it kept him from being hurt, but Thunderbird got a tickle knowing that rain could bother as much as it could nourish. He was sure that the four men, not native to the area, were probably unhappy with the rain, and didn’t like constantly being in a storm. The people from the village seemed to love it.

Days would pass like this, and with the drizzle being constant, he noticed the vegetables he was being brought became fuller and lusher. The dryness of the first bowl had long since gone away, and even the barley and the sorghum became more flavourful. These things, as good as they could be, would never replace the fish of his home, but the gesture was more than appreciated. 

As more people came and went, showing him respect, even with the lack of touch, Thunderbird became more comfortable with their visits. He would show this by standing passively, lying on his side, and trying to show that they didn’t have any ferocity to fear by coming close. Unfortunately, he was still much bigger than them, and this alone kept people from getting close to him. 

He didn’t understand why he’d wanted to be stroked and petted so much. Why the idea of that made him so much more wanting. He’d always been solitary, prowling the skies, and avoiding humans and creatures that he couldn’t eat. It had never occurred to him before, and being sky bound all the time was incredibly fulfilling. But the absolute pain those men inflicted, the way they’d tortured, misfed, and disregarded him. Something about that behaviour changed Thunderbird in a way that he needed a kinder touch, something with respect and care. Something fruitful! 

When the child had pet him on his first new day there, it had been nothing like anything he’d ever felt. There was connection to it, an innocence he couldn’t seek elsewhere. The child was curious, and respectfully learned how to approach, and though the young of any species don’t have the most amazing survival instinct, there was a part of him that knew what was, and what was not, a friendly gesture to give and to receive. 

In his time alone, this is what he thought about, the nature of how these people regarded him. Most of them would never touch, that was certain. To a degree he knew he was being idolized. This was probably the first time in many generations these folks had been flush with water. But the unfortunate deal of being put on a pedestal like that means they wouldn’t befriend him, they couldn’t love and respect him in a genuine way as the child had. Instead they would feed him, look upon him, and show an unquestioned curiosity at his presence. 

It kept him fed, healthy, and unharmed. That was the bottom line. Thunderbird could, for now, deal with a lack of connection if it meant going unharmed by his captors. Sometimes, however, these things are not meant to last.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You don't just stay.

It wasn’t really that the Thunderbird had gotten used to the place. He’d simply acclimatized to the situation. The pain stopped coming, the rain kept falling, the people kept coming, and the four men never visited. It wasn’t the freedom of the skies, he’d never gone unshackled, but it’s been a long while since he went hungry. 

One day, a group of the humans came and looked at him. At most, he’d see three people. But today, at least twenty had crowded into his tent. They spoke towards him, to each other. Some looked scared, frustrated even. Others nodded at the older humans. Thunderbird looked on curiously, unable to understand what was taking place. Like the storm of a strong wind (when it wasn’t his own, of course), he knew this was important.

The humans all left, one came back and left a bowl of vegetables that was twice as big as any he’d seen. As he enjoyed the bowl of food, he thought back to the taste of fish. A common memory during his meals here. Outside, human voices began to raise. It wasn’t hard to separate his captors from the village folk. Thunderbird stopped chewing. Something had happened. The four men rushed into the tent, one of them holding a baton. 

He yelled at the people, who looked on speechless. He yelled! Yelled louder and louder still. Then he swung. Thunderbird once again felt the awful pain. Since the first time he’d been hit, he was able to deal with the pain, but it didn’t make it any less appalling. This man kept striking him, and yelling back at the towns people. He was trying to make some point. As if this was a good argument.

Thunderbird grew furious. The thunder began to ring across the plains, the rain pouring hard, wind howling through the crowds into the tent. He’d had enough. He opened his eyes just brief enough to see the man standing in front of him, a flurry of blows coming down from him. Thunderbird stretched his neck faster than any could catch and sliced his beak open and closed.

All the shouting stopped except for one man’s scream. Thunderbird swallowed whatever he just took. It was his, it was his time to take. The man fell to the ground before him, a leg less than when he walked in. The other three men, eyes wide, mouths agape, ran up. In a quick decision, having learned the ways of these thieves, Thunderbird opened his mouth and hovered the man’s head inside his maw.  
Everyone else stopped. 

The three men were manic now, whispering ideas and plans to each other. Thunderbird closed his mouth enough to drag the legless man over to his chain. His screaming stopped, and he looked up afraid. Not just lightly either, for the first time he recognized the strength of the creature over him. He’d gotten the jump on him before, but no more. This time he’d gotten sloppy, and stupid, and let himself get caught. Not only caught, mind you, but outmaneuvered. He’d have to open the clamp, otherwise a leg wouldn’t be the only thing lost today. His eyes dashed around the room, hoping someone would think of something. Thunderbird closed his jaw tighter on his skull, the storm becoming louder and louder with his fury.

He reached for his pocket, retrieving a key. He slowly moved it to the clamp. Then, as quick as the first bite, Thunderbird had been struck from behind. A searing pain, so harsh that he couldn’t help but close his beak tight, causing an awful sound to hush the clamour of everyone around to a deafening silence. Moments passed, and shrieks were heard from not just his captors, but everyone. This is not what he’d wanted to do. In the last moment, he knew that this would make things so much worse.

A quick, sharp pain to his wings, much quicker, and now much more frequent. This time all three had joined in to hurt him, to kill him. They kept striking him, and though he attempted to break out of their attacks, it was much too constant. Looking at the body before him, however, he felt it would’ve been worth it.

Then they stopped. One of the men held the other two back. They smiled a monstrous, unfair grin to each other. One of them went into the crowd of villagers, who all looked on in horror. Rushing back through them, he brought forward one of the children. His sight was marred by the beating earlier, but he knew who it was. 

He held the child up before the people, yelling at them. Then he brought the child, crying, up to Thunderbird. Another threat, this one more grotesque than any before. He would make it rain, he would be quiet. The villagers began bringing them shining, golden stones. The child was taken away, and one of the men held back to drag the body of his associate from the tent.

Thunderbird rested to the ground, his body bruised and battered. They couldn’t lose him, he made them their ill-gotten treasure. It must have been so worth it, to be this ghastly. He thought of fish at home, thought of lakes full of meaty, fatty food. And he thought of how he’d never hurt another one of his kind, let alone torture any people to get more. Survival was survival, he’d had to fight for his food, but never maim, never harm for the sake of his own resources. 

The selfishness of it all. He never wanted to see another person. In the days that followed his wish was granted. The tent was closed off, small bowls of food being pushed into the door, and a long hook pole dragging them back out. The time spent healing meant he didn’t really notice the time pass, or the lack of people. As he got better, the only thing he noticed was how the tent moved in the wind, and how the rain splashed on the roof.

Food pushed in, food pulled out. Nobody was to visit anymore. That was perfectly fine for Thunderbird, if not for how utterly gloomy the inside of this tent was. He noticed little beetles crawling in and out, new piles of sand forming then blowing away on the outside. The way the rain water would make little pools that dried in the heat as quickly as they formed. Pockets of rain filling up then spilling out from the roof. By the time he was fully healed and able to stand without any aches, this tent had become too common to him. He made markings in the sand, meaningless, but at least they changed the scenery for him. 

Once, when food was being brought, the person pushing it fell through the curtain entry, actually startling the Thunderbird. He screamed at the sight and ran out. Nothing changed. Nobody came, nobody went, food in, food out, day in, day out. Once, just to see what it would do, Thunderbird stopped the rain. One of his captors creeped in, holding what looked like the rifle that knocked him out in the first place. It wasn’t worth being knocked out, the rain started again, the door closed, and the inside of the tent was lit only by the light shining through the fabric.

All he did was eat, sleep, and as time went on, he dreamt. At first, they were wild and horrific dreams. He dreamt of flying in the Arizona skies, free and clear. The sun shone upon his wings, spread to take in the heat. Then, when he was hungry, he’d duck below the clouds. Beneath, he found that the Arizona lands he knew had been replaced with the elongated faces of the men who brought him here. The one he’d killed being bigger than the others, and looking pieced together. He woke in the middle of the night because of that dream, and didn’t get back to sleep until the next night.

The more dreams he’d had, the less horrifying they were. The most common one was him being able to swim among the fish he ate, as a fish himself. Fish weren’t the smartest creature, it seemed, and they didn’t notice a giant bird swimming alongside them. He attempted to speak with them, and they told him that they’d been tired of swimming and just wished they’d get eaten by a bird who could take them to the lake in the sky. That dream always woke him hungry, making the wait for his food feel much longer.

He looked at the peg chaining him to the floor. Ever stuck in the sand. More desperate than ever, he tried again to remove it from the ground. It was well and truly wedged, attached to some mighty stone that was probably much bigger than him.

He laid down, eyes shifting again. He thought back to biting into the man’s skull, and that though it’s made his circumstances much more isolated, he was satisfied. He hoped they feared him, those men, he hoped that’s why they’d rather use a gun. As unfortunate as it was that they’d never get close to him again for him to exact further penance, their fear was fuel enough. Thinking back, however, he should have done things differently.

He’d gotten too comfortable, he hadn’t been taking advantage of all the people coming and going. He’d gotten so focused on their kindness that he never considered trying to get the villagers to help him escape. His foolishness hadn’t brought him here, but it surely kept him here. Thunderbird liked the attention, he liked being showered in food and wonder. 

Maybe, if he’d tried to motion them to the shackle, they’d have understood. One of them would sneak into his captors’ tents, stealing their key. Maybe they would have overwhelmed them. Despite their weapons, the village folk had numbers. Maybe they’d even be able to convince them that the Thunderbird wouldn’t leave, that he’d deserved a little freedom to roam. No, that’s too far, these men didn’t care for that. As far as they were concerned, he was simply a rain machine. Something to produce for their own wealth. Besides the point, just maybe these people could have helped. When he’d had access to them of course.

He had no idea how long it had been at this point. A few times he considered creating a hurricane. However, it would be killing a lot of innocent people whose only crime was wanting clean water and better food. Not only that, he was chained down, no amount of wind was going to change that.

He was stuck in place, and as solitary as one could be in this situation. 

Then, one night, as he dreamt of faraway freedom, a noise awoke him. Under the tent walls he could see blue flashes. Only three, before a few words were spoken, and the tent opened, revealing a gaunt human with light brown hair. He smiled warmly at the Thunderbird, and said a few words. Though he didn’t understand the words being said by this man, he picked up on a name: “Newt.”

He walked in, slowly, hands out flat. He was holding a stick that he tucked away. His hands were palm out, and his voice was calm. Thunderbird braced as the man reached into his pocket, only for him to pull out the key. The shackle keys. A trick? Another dream? Whether it was or wasn’t didn’t matter. Thunderbird slowly present his shackled legs. This man, “Newt”, undid both the shackled quite gently. He made a hiss, he must have seen what iron does to a leg, man or animal. 

He removed the stick from his coat again, Thunderbird eyeing him closely. Newt pointed to the stick, and repeated a word to him: “Wand.” He said a few words, and the burning itch of the shackle cooled, and was gone in seconds. These were gifts, but again Thunderbird worried it was either a trick, or still a dream. 

Newt reached out to him, but the Thunderbird pulled back. This was the thing that got him stuck here further, he wouldn’t be fooled again. Newt seemed to understand, he didn’t press further, and instead pulled away. Slowly though, he motioned the mighty creature to come outside with him. 

Once there all the villagers had gathered. It was night, yet everyone was awake. When he stood tall, the villagers were much more aware of his size, but he wouldn’t harm them. He looked around, eyes adjusting to the plains around the village. Taking in the world he had been hidden from. The stars salted the black skies, the moon bathing everything in a cool light. The tents all similar to his own, and on the ground, his three captors were knocked out. Had this thin man taken them all? He was tempted, very tempted, to stomp them beneath his mighty talons, but these people had been scared enough. 

Newt spoke to them, motioning to the men, motioning to Thunderbird. He watched as this person spoke kindly, smiling, and being patient with them. Then he walked over to their well, pulled out his wand, and said a couple different words that Thunderbird didn’t understand. The noise of water loudly shot from the well, one brief spurt shooting from the well as it filled up.

Newt motioned the people over, they began filling cups to drink, and the water never lessened. It stayed at the top of the well. Everyone drank, except for Newt, who loaded the men on to a cart, and using his wand, conjured up some ethereal rope to bind them. He threw a canvas blanket over them, and used rocks on each side. When he finished loading them up, he smiled very knowingly to Thunderbird. 

He looked at the men on the cart. There were many different thoughts that went through his head, but in the end, he decided that forgetting them was the most justice he would have. Give them nothing, not anger or sadness. Ambivalence. They weren’t worth his life or his time. Odds are they’d be taken to authorities, imprisoned, it didn’t matter anymore. All that mattered was that he was free, at last.

Thunderbird, himself being thirsty, walked to the well. Newt held out his hand, stopping him. He looked at Thunderbird knowingly, eyes motioning to the people, who as they drank, seemed to have this blank stare appear across their eyes. They looked at him, but almost like they stared right through. Newt waved his hand and began to leave. 

Thunderbird looked at them, all of them staring blankly. He’d understood what Newt did, why he had to do it. This truly wasn’t their world. As they crossed the last hill before losing sight of the village, he looked back, using his excellent sight to see that the curious child was happily getting himself a glass of water, then retreating to his tent. They descended down the hill, and the village was gone from sight. 

It was funny, he was finally out in the open with someone who appeared to be trustworthy, and yet Thunderbird couldn’t bring himself to fly. It felt as though every time he thought of it during this whole ordeal he’d get hurt. He looked to the skies many times, and he was sure that Newt had noticed this. Anyone may well see the longing he had for the freedom flight gave him, but at the end of the day this wasn’t even his home. These weren’t his skies, and he wouldn’t be content until they were again.

Newt stopped the cart, Thunderbird walking alongside. He stepped to the mighty bird, and spoke a bit. Ever calm was his voice, and he spoke of things like “home” and “Arizona”. Newt helped him understand his words, for Thunderbird was smarter than the average avian. The idea was clear- this man was going to take him home. 

On the other hand, he also spoke anxiously using words like “hidden” and “muggle” repeatedly. He went over to the cart, and retrieved a small case with a handle. Opening it before the creature, he slowly approached, and Thunderbird felt himself getting drawn into it. Slowly his body shrunk as the case got closer. It didn’t feel bad, though, and he trusted this man enough to know there’d be no point causing pain when he’d come along so willingly. 

His sight went white, only for a brief moment. Before he saw it, the surreal image of his home, Arizona. The grand sunny deserts, the plateaus in the distance. This was like home. His heart swelled, and he turned around to see Newt, smiling brightly. Thunderbird knew this wasn’t real, he could smell it in the air. Arizona didn’t smell of leather, and he could sense that the boundaries were much closer than open country. 

Newt said nothing, he approached with a paper wrapping in his hand. He opened it, Thunderbird couldn’t believe his eyes, and quivered with excitement. It was a big, juicy, silver salmon. Slowly he walked towards it, Newt holding it towards him. Opening his beak and taking the whole fish in his mouth he savoured the rich flavor of the meat. It was better than it had ever been before, it filled him with joy and spirit. Then he swallowed it, and felt really, truly full. Looking down at Newt, he simply pointed to the sky behind Thunderbird, who looked back at it. 

Thunderbird knew what this meant, what he was able to do now. He spread his winds, all the aches of time shaking out of them, he stretched his back, and braced his legs, he looked up, brushed the ground with his feet, and leaped. The air pushed back, but he pushed harder. The old feeling came back, he rushed his wings to the ground and lifted himself into the air with speed. 

This wasn’t home, not yet, but it was close enough for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's the end of my first fic! Thanks to anyone who gave it a read! Polite feedback is always appreciated.
> 
> Shameless self-advertising, but if you ever want to follow me and see what I'm working on, you can find me on twitter at @CJRothWritten! Thanks again for reading, I'll see you again soon. :)


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